Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 2
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 1
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 2
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 3
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 4
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 5
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 6
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 7
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 8
- Teen Witch’s Survival Guide: Chapter 9
I open my eyes to the stars. Thousands of them light up the colorful painting of space dust that circles the sky.
My hands are tingly and numb, my head pounds, and my mouth is dry.
Something soft brushes my hand, making me jolt upright. I spot a tiny rabbit near my fingers and let out a breath, at ease. As I scan my surroundings, I catch sight of a girl standing just above me, their presence causing me to scream.
She screams too.
“Who are you?!” I snap.
“Who the hell are you?” she counters, gripping her necklace.
I take in the situation. I’m alone in the woods at night, when witches go out to harvest, and she’s out here with me.
“Sorry I scared you. I’m Hawthorn. Are you all right?” She kneels to be at eye level with me. The basket on her arm is full of flowers.
“I’m Lean.” I tell her, voice wavering.
Hawthorn smiles and I notice her sharp canines. “It’s nice to meet you. How’d you get out here?”
“There was a bear, and I… fainted. What are you doing out here?”
The rabbit noses at my palm, and I jerk away. Her familiar? It’s awfully friendly for a normal animal, never-mind a witch’s familiar.
“I was topping up the flower shop’s stock.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“It was a busy day.”
Thick tension lingers in the air. We stare, calculating. I’m sure she’s lying, but I’m unarmed– if she is a witch, she could kill me. She could regardless.
“My dad and brothers are probably worried sick by now. I should get home.”
Hawthorn’s shoulders relax. “How about I walk you? To fend off any bears.”
The smile on my face catches me by surprise, so I say, “Sure.”
Before we go, I grab my basket of half-spilled strawberries, still in near-perfect shape. The rabbit had found them and was nibbling.
“Get lost, you vermin.”
Hawthorn steps forward quickly to pick it up. “Sorry, he’s with me. He’s not normally this friendly, though.”
Its teeth are still gnawing. This creature isn’t friendly, it’s a scheming beast, and probably proof this girl is a witch.
“We should get going,” I say.
I led us back down the forest path. The thick brush seems to draw away from me, almost as if it pities me.
Only after passing the birch, I realize neither of us carries a lantern. Still, the thick trees remain as clear in daylight. I stop, unsettled.
“Everything alright?” Hawthorn asks.
This has to be her magic lighting the way. Is it some kind of game?
“Everything’s fine.”
I trudge the final paces to my house, in all its hidden log cabin glory. The moss is creeping up underneath the kitchen window again. I’ll have to deal with it.
“Will you be okay from here?” she asks.
“Yes.” I answer.
“Have a pleasant night,” she says, turning away but pausing. “Are you busy tomorrow?”
“What?” I ask. This girl has to be a witch. There’s no other reason she’d ask.
“Do you want to hang out? I only work in the morning.” She tucks a piece of her curly black hair behind her ear.
“Sure. Sounds fun.” I say, despite everything I’ve ever learned.
She smiles, waves, and disappears into the trees. I stand in the doorway, wondering if I’ve made a mistake. No one in the village likes me, so why does she?
The house is dark and empty as I step inside and kick my boots to the side. I go to place the berries in the kitchen, and see the abandoned cake mix sitting on the counter.
***
Sleep evades me as I lie in bed, eyes on the starry sky. Maybe it was today’s events, or tomorrow’s plans.
“Oleander,” a voice calls. I looked up at the sound of my full name, but my room is empty.
“Dad?” I call back, climbing to my feet.
“Oleander,” the voice says again. I could hear it more clearly now. It was a woman’s voice.
“Hello?” I ask, pulling the hunting knife from my dresser. I step into the hallway to find out where it’s coming from and see a figure.
She’s wearing a long black dress, with fabrics of mesh and purple accenting. Her hair is blonde and thin, hanging over her face.
It’s a witch. It has to be. I reach for my knife and hurl it at the figure out of instinct, but it passes through her like she’s made of mist.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Oleander, you must not fight it.”
Helpless, I stand as the figure approaches. My nightgown is thin, feet are bare, and I’ve lost my only weapon.
“You are special.” She steps forward. I keep my feet firmly planted on the cold hardwood.
“What are you?” I demand.
Her hands are ice when she cups my cheeks. “You will succeed.”
The next thing I know, I’m back in bed, the sun shining on my face. Was it all a dream?
But I know better. I waste no time in investigating.
My knife is still lodged in the wall where I threw it.
Editor: Lucy Cafiero
